


would it be enough if i could never give you peace?

by thepapernautilus



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Day At The Beach, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Mild Sexual Content, POV Second Person, Shadowbringers Spoilers, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:28:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25483204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepapernautilus/pseuds/thepapernautilus
Summary: “Alisaie suggested it. To catch your eye.”He snorts. “You could wear a popotosack and catch my eye.”or: the beach episode.wolexarch and the scions being one big dysfunctional family.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Reader, G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 20
Kudos: 153





	would it be enough if i could never give you peace?

“In exchange for opening trade between Eulmore and The Crystarium,” Alphinaud drones, reading dryly from a book’s worth of papers in his hands, “Governor Chai-Nuzz requests the presence of the Warrior of Darkness and her companions for a ceremony, which will take place on the newly renovated Broken Shell Beach in… by the Twelve, two sun’s time,” he abruptly swears as several papers fluttered to the ground from his hands.

Truth be told, you were having some difficulty paying attention to your friend’s words.

With the correction of light and the seasons, The First promptly dived into a most violent summer, and while you were adaptable to all sorts of conditions, even the unnaturally chilled walls of the Crystarium couldn’t stop you from melting to a vaguely Warrior of Darkness-shaped puddle on the floor. The rest of the Scions were in similar straits; Alisaie’s jacket was haphazardly cast off, exposing her surprisingly toned arms as she fanned herself with one of Alphinaud’s books; Ryne was fiddling with a handful of Thancred’s bullets while he chucked empty casings at Urianger, trying to disrupt his attention, who was wholly focused on the Exarch’s words, despite the growing twitch of his fair brow.

“So,” Y’shtola interrupts, her fair skin flushed from the heat; she hadn’t shucked her austere black garments even with the heat wave, “the Chai’s are requesting our presence for… pray correct me if I’m wrong, but… a beach party?”

Ryne’s head pops up, cerulean eyes wide with hope. Thancred ceases his torture for a moment to raisea curious brow.

Alphinaud sighs, dropping the papers heavily onto the Exarch’s cluttered desk and going about neatening them. “You can thank Mrs. Dulia-Chai—and the rest of Eulmore for that matter—for this exercise in frivolity. There was no convincing her otherwise. Yes, it is a beach party, thrown to improve morale in Eulmore and the surrounding villages. They were quite adamant our presence, including you, Exarch, would make the event a success.”

The Exarch nods, a wry smile on his lips. Since your return from The Tempest, he had gone without his cowl, and it is a blessing and a curse to one such as yourself, who is so easily distracted by his casual grace and beauty. How often had you trailed off into speechless by his crimson Allagan eyes? Too oft. “An interesting proposition. Of course we will accept— that is, if the Warrior of Darkness consents to being exploited so?” He grins at you with no small amount of amusement. Your heart flutters to see a smile that, while you recognized it from his younger self, still suited him well.

“The Warrior of Darkness does indeed consent.” You quip. “If stripping down to my skivvies and dunking Alphinaud is all that must be done to facilitate the trade route, I’d do it for free.”

“Even— pray forgive me.” The Exarch mutters under his breath, ear twitching. He quickly nods at Alphinaud. “Give them our full consent, and warmest regards.”

“I resent that, by the way,” Alphinaud glowers at you, then nods obediently to the Exarch. “They, er… _insisted_ that everyone dress appropriately for the occasion, I’ll add. Dulia-Chai offered the Warrior her personal wardrobe.”

Y’shtola scoffs. “Or they’ll do _what_ , exactly, if we don’t?”

“In regards to Lady Dulia-Chai, ’tis only likely she wouldst apprehend thee and correct thy attire to her liking,” Urianger says sardonically. “However, it is unlikely Governor Chai-Nuzz wouldst disregard the trade agreement in the event of such minuscule acts of rebellion. As for you, my lady, I know only full well your countenance on such matters, and naught can be done to dissuade you from your course.”

“I, for one, think it’s a great opportunity,” Alisaie grins, and you don’t think it is _entirely_ due to the pleasure she took in Alphinaud’s suffering. “This heat is _infernal,_ and a day of swimming sounds a wonderful reprieve indeed.”

“I-I quite agree!” Ryne stammers, looking embarrassed at her own words.

“You’ll only be going if you finish all your studies for the day ahead of time,” Thancred reminds her. “It was very kind of the Warrior to bring you so much literature from Kugane on their ninja arts, and it would not do to dally in your studies.”

She cowers under his words, then quickly recovers and retorts. “But, I’m _already_ ahead—”

“Master Thancred,” Urianger interrupts, “’tis only fair for our Lady Ryne to enjoy a respite from her studies, not to mention her numerous duties as thy Oracle of Light. She hath performed most admirably, particularly in her efforts in The Empty, and I have every confidence she will continue to do so, even with the fleeting distraction of a beachside siesta.”

“Th-thank you, Urianger, for your kind words,” Ryne blushes. Thancred holds up his hands in exasperation.

“Fine, fine. But no boys. Or girls. Or in between.”

“ _Thancred!”_ Ryne chokes. “You know _full_ well—”

Upon Thancred and Ryne’s eruption, the Exarch touches your bared arm with a crystal hand; you startle at his cool touch, meeting his liquid crimson dark eyes. “’Tis time for lunch, I reckon,” he says to you quietly, crowding your personal space. His scent of parchment, pine, and pure aether is intoxicating as ever. “Join me?”

You nod, standing up quickly from your sprawl, righting your clothes, and following him out of the Oculus and into the streaming sunlight outside.

Since your return to the First, the Exarch had gently, but persistently, requested your presence at nearly every meal. It had initially struck you as strange, and you second-guessed his true intentions, but you were growing to realize it was simply his way of fitting in time with you between your busy schedules as veritable heroes of this realm. And let it be said, you looked forward to sharing your meals with him far more than you already did. He was an excellent conversationalist, your personal feelings from him aside, and full of intriguing stories and knowledge on the First. Sometimes one of your companions would join you, often one or both of the twins, but oft you would sneak away by yourselves, settling in a quiet grove of The Lakelands, near enough to immediately return to the Crystarium upon trouble, but far enough to grant the Exarch a measure of peace from his duties. When you came to your usual spot, you both pressed your backs against the massive tree above you and he began opening the bundle he held in his arms, handing you your portion. You realize, the realization causing you to blush, that he had doubtless packed this lunch ahead of you saying yes.

“’Tis not my cooking today,” he tells you, opening several packages neatly wrapped with beeswax wrappers and hempen linens, “but it shall serve us nonetheless.”

The food was wonderful, and the accompanying iced melon even more so. You ate it as slow as you could, savoring the cold sweetness on your tongue.

“Have you ever attended a beach party, ‘Raha?” You ask, meeting his gaze. To your amusement, he tries not to start at the mention of his name, fails, and grins sheepishly at you. You smile in return.

“Forgive me,” he shakes his head. “Such words should not affect me so, but they are rare indeed.” He clears his throat, looking away from you and into the lavender woods. “Sharlayan, the city of scholars where I was schooled, is situated on an island, so we all went to the beach with some frequency. I especially enjoyed spearfishing.” He grins, the glint of his canine catching your eye.You imagine him young and feckless, spearing fish in the sweltering summer without a care in the world aside from the thrill of the hunt. “It did not happen as much as I’d like, but yes, there were some… ‘beach parties’, alcohol, skivvies, and all. Are you afraid I’ll show up in formal wear and embarrass the esteemed and highly fashionable Warrior of Darkness?”

“No, no,” you laugh. “I was simply curious. _Are_ you going to swim, though?”

“Truth be told, I may have had enough water for a lifetime, after swimming from the depths of The Tempest. But I will consider it. Will you?”

“’Tis only my duty, to give the Eulmorans a show,” you grin rakishly, thinking of the skimpy outfits and sultry dances of the Beehive, many of which you owned yourself. To your great joy, the Exarch flushes furiously, occupying himself with a melon slice. You giggle at his shyness. “For the worshipped leader of a community, you embarrass so easily, ‘Raha!”

“Only with you, my friend,” he sighs. “only with you. You forget I am an old man.”

Thinking of him when he was younger, you ask, “have I changed, since you saw me last? ’Tis not very long for me, but it has been… _very_ long for you.”

“Hmm. That is an excellent question.” He eyes you openly, considering you, lingering on your features with a tenderness in his eyes. You meet his scarlet gaze, drawing your knees up to your chest and sitting your chin on your knees as you wait for his answer. “Yes. No. Somewhat.”

“So specific,” you tease.

He laughs. “Yes, very. I think the way I _see_ you is different. You may be much the same Warrior of Light as I first met you, but _I_ have changed extraordinarily, so as a result, so the way in which I perceive you is quite different.”

“And how did you see me, when we first met?”

He groans. “Oh, you’re really going to make me say it?” You smile andnod, leaning forward with open curiosity. He sighs, avoiding your gaze, ears folding down and fluffed tail twitching on the lavender grass. He plucks a spear of grass from the earth, considering it in his crystal and gilded fingers. “Hero worship is too weak a term for how I felt about you, warrior. You were larger than life to me, a hero of old incarnate—and impossibly beautiful besides—so I desperately wanted to catch your eye. Hence all my… posturing about my archery and all that. I felt very much that, Echo or not, this was my chance of, auditioning, if you will, to be part of the Scions. But… you know how it played out, in the end.” He finishes with a heavy sigh. He smiles at you, bittersweet and kind, but there is a sorrow there, unnamed and ancient, full of missed opportunities and alternate timelines. “‘Tis all happened for the best, hasn’t it? We are still here together, you and I.”

“And how do you feel now?” You persist, leaning forward. Much like solving a mystery in ancient dilapidated runes, you could see the ragged end of the thread leading to the answers to all your questions, and tug on it with the dogged ruthlessness of a starving cur. There was much the Exarch hid from you, even still, and you at least wanted this from him.

“I…” he hesitates. “I do not… perhaps it would be unwise for me to say such things, warrior. My feelings should not burden you unduly, any more than I have already.”

You hadn’t expected to be denied. You frown. “I would gladly tell you of my feelings, then and now. It is a burden I am happy to share, especially with such a close friend.”

“And I would relish it, to hear such thoughts from you. But I—”

“So when do the secrets end?” You snap, the words out of your mouth before you can clamp your tongue around them. The mood shifts irrevocably, but you are growing increasingly irritated. The Exarch leans away from you, eyes widening in surprise at your outburst. “‘Raha, what you’ve done, to save my friends and this entire Shard, took incalculable strength, a strength of will beyond even the Twelve themselves, and I _want_ to trust you, I _need_ to trust you, but you repeatedly… I feel like I’m beginning to know you, to know the person you _are_ , and then you… close off.”

He says your name gently, reaching a placating hand to yours, and you resist, the words flowing out of your mouth without thought. “I thought you were young, and arrogant, yet so full of life when I first met you. You hadn’t feared I didn’t notice you; I hoped you would join the Scions in our endeavors, with your unbeatable strength and intelligence. I could tell you… felt strongly towards me, but to be perfectly honest, I was far too overwhelmed to consider anyone besides the immediate duties ahead. Until very recently, I have not considered anyone besides the battles ahead. But, I grieved when you locked yourself in the Tower, and everytime I went to the Rising Stones, I would visit the Tower. Just to see it. To see you. When I asked you about G’raha Tia’s fate upon entering the First, it was because I cared for my lost friend.When you told me you’d never seen him, I trusted you. And while there was some truth to your statement—G’raha Tia went in and the Crystal Exarch came out—I cannot pretend that it doesn’t bother me, despite your honorable deeds.”

You finish your rambling, then look back up at him. The Exarch is staring at you with obvious alarm, an arm stretched towards you.

“I’m so sorry, Exarch,” you stammer, horrified at your own words. “P-Pray forgive my impudence.

Before he can respond, you stand and sprint towards the Crystarium before he can catch you.

_Shite._

—

You spend the rest of the evening alone in your room in the Pendants, furiously turning over your own words in your head, torturing yourself with them and the look in his eyes as you turned tail and ran. It was so ridiculous! You had no right to begrudge him from concealing his own identity, especially to save your hide, and yet, the continuing secrecies stung deeper than you warranted, leaving you raw and frayed. There were so many parts of his actions and words you couldn’t sort in your mind; why invite you to nearly every meal, shower you in compliments and honeyed words, yet dodge so many questions? He would answer some with perfect and open honesty, then clam up at others. Just like his skin, he was hot and cold all over, and it was like to drive you to insanity.

There was a knock at your door; you halt in your fevered pacing, terrified. You consider ignoring it, fearing it was the Exarch here to either console or confront you, knowing you would sink into tears if you saw his kind stupidly beautiful face, until they spoke.

“Warrior, the Exarch’s been sulking in his damned office all evening, _what have you done?_ ” Alisaie calls to you. You swing open the door; dressed in light summer clothes, Alisaie quickly enters, sitting on your bed, arms crossed. “Honestly, I can hardly blame you, the man is infuriating besides, but Alphinaud is in a fit over it.”

“Oh, dear,” you mumble. “We… had a misunderstanding.”

“Lover’s quarrel?” Alisaie raises a fair brow. You drop the glass of chilled wine you were holding, and it shatters to the floor.

“Heavens above, _no!_ Why would you…?” Your face is overwhelmed with heat.

“Wait, _really?_ You aren’t?” Alisaie gaped. “By the Twelve, we all had figured you two were just trying to keep things quiet for appearances sake, but—!”

“I’m… we’re not… er…”

“So, are you not interested? Is it the whole crystal business? Or the worshipping-the-ground-you-live-on? He would gladly worship you if given the chance, I reckon; I could see that getting tiring after a while. He is a bit of a know-it-all, and to be frank, are such things even functioning after so long in disuse? I reckoned you had your eyes on Hien, understandably so, but—”

“Alisaie.”

“What?”

You sigh, trying to decipher your own emotions. “I _am_ interested.”

“Oh. Well, that’s unfortunate.” She blinks. “But?”

“But… he is… difficult to understand. Or approach. I can’t tell what part is admiration, platonic or romantic. Or what are dangerous secrets for ‘my own good’ and what is merely his own privacy. Truth be told, Alisaie, I don’t have much experience in love, and what little I have was not nearly so troubling!”

“Men in general are a daft bunch,” Alisaie sniffs. “the Exarch is no exception to this, despite all his years. I will say, his love for you is plain as the moon above. Even Urianger has noticed, and that man wouldn’t know romance if it hit him upside the head.”

“What do you suggest?” You sigh, exasperated. “I tried to get him to speak a _little_ , on matters between us today, but he clammed up and I… well, I blew up.” You throw up your hands. “You know me, beat the shite out of something and deal with it later.”

Alisaie puts a hand to her chin, reminding you so much of her brother in her mannerisms. “Well, an apology is a good start. But this beach party might be an excellent way to get… well, parts of the Exarch that are still human,” you blush furiously at her innuendo, “functioning again. You know, that’s a fair question, just how far does the crystal—?”

“—I’m not having this conversation,” you squeak, horrified she’d voiced the question you’d considered during too many late nights alone with naught but yourself and too many glasses of wine,“but I like your thinking.”

“By the Twelve, why am _I_ helping you on matters of love? This Shard really is godsforsaken after all.”

You shrug haplessly. “So, what do you suggest?”

She grins wickedly.

—

You didn’t see the Exarch the following day; Lyna told you, with a critical look and twitch of her silver leporine ears, that he was settling affairs so he’d be free to leave the Crystarium for the Eulmore ceremony.

“I’ll be blunt,” she tells you, stopping you in your tracks. “I’ve known the Exarch a long time, and he is as much my father as any. ’Tis plain to any of us at the Crystarium how happy he is around you, how you bring a new life to him despite the burdens of years he bears. Whether you return his feelings or not, I beg you, do not jeopardize that for him by torturing him unduly so.”

The Vii are more prone to bluntness than any race you’ve met before; perhaps their strength, stature, and unnatural beauty gifts them a confidence inaccessible to one such as you. You nod at Lyna, then say gently, “Thank you for your candor, Lyna. I do not intend to prolong his suffering, by any measure. I apologize for causing you any strife.”

She nods, sighing. “’Tis fine, Warrior. It is not your fault; for all his years, he is a damned fool in love.” You blush at her words, and she leaves you in the sultry twilight of the Exedra before you can respond.

The following morning, you set out on amanos with Alisaie and Ryne to help Dulia-Chai with decorations, and, much to your horror, play dress-up in a series of swimsuits, more sheer, lewd, and complicated than the last.

“With a body like that, you should show it off while you’ve got it!” Dulia-Chai extols, presenting you with yet more gauzy fripperies. You groan, twisting uncomfortably in the complicated fit wrapping your body.

“My lady, I enjoy fashion as much as the next, but you have me at wit’s end,” you plead. “I think we’ve found more than enough suitable garments!”

Alisaie nods, sipping delicately on chilled melon juice. “I quite liked that black number. Should do the trick. He’d have a hard time ignoring you in that.”

Ryne nods in agreement, chewing on a sweet Eulmoran confection. “Ooh, yes, that should _definitely_ catch the Exarch’s eye—”

“How do _you_ know about that?!” You turn on the young Oracle, feeling your face heating despite the chilled air of Dulia-Chai’s quarters.

“Thancred told me!” She holds up her hands in defense. “Well, he didn’t really tell me, persay, but he jokes with Urianger, and I cannot help but overhear such things.”

“What _jokes?_ ”

“S-Somewhat about his ‘crystal tower—?’”

You groan, collapsing in an overstuffed velvet armchair. “Remind me,” you mutter sourly, “to wipe the smirk off Thancred’s face. With my fist.”

“Happily.” Alisaie grins.

With your outfits decided, you attired yourselves and followed Dulia-Chai through Gatetown and down to the docks. Eulmorans were already sprawled across the beach under great umbrellas, the few children were splashing happily in the waters, and Chai-Nuzz was desperately trying to persuade a stark nude elderly Mystel to don his trunks. Your stomach growled to see the delicious buffet set out, and you promptly turned, but Alisaie drags you in the water, growling as she promptly dunks you into the salty depths. Sputtering, you twist in her arms and drive her under. While you may be stronger, she has you with her red mage speed; she’s out of your grip before you can blink, splashing you and paddling out into the deeper waters. Roaring with competition, you follow her, trying to drag her under by her ankle.

You’d missed his arriving in your horseplay with Alisaie; by the time you resurface, sputtering saltwater and your hair plastered to your face, you see the faint glint of crystal in the sunlight, and your heart stutters to see it.

After first glance, you dunk your head back under the waves again, the heat in your cheeks having nothing to do with the summer, or your exertion.

 _Hydaelyn, have mercy on your chosen,_ you think hopelessly.

When you pop back up, a little more collected than before,he’s sitting on the wooden dock, legs dangling in the water. You had seen him shirtless back in Mor Dhona, while he was helping Cid construct equipment for the Sycrus Tower. You hadn’t thought much of it then, but it consumes you now. While short for a Miq’ote, he had a stout build, his body as honed as his mind, and well-muscled arms capable of pulling his bow back without a sweat. To your great horror, none of that had changed. Save for the whorls of crystal, he was just as excellently built as before, muscles glimmering with perspiration in the sunlight, and seeing _so much_ of his skin did something to you. You fear you’d merely make a squawking noise if you tried to speak to him.

Alisaie grabs at you from under the water; you leapt away from her grasp with a shriek, thinking only of the demons lying in the Tempest. She rolls her eyes at you.

“What?!”

“Go talk to him!” She hisses.

“Oh, but… I can’t… Maybe… maybe I should give it more time… you know, let’s play a round of blitzball and—”

“You’re the godsdamned Warrior of Darkness! What in hell do you mean, you can’t?! You can do anything! You slaughtered Ifrit with your littlest finger! What’s one half-addled Miqo’te for you?!”

You wring your hands. “Alisaie, I—”

Her blue eyes narrow; she tilts her chin rebelliously to you. “If you don’t talk to him, I swear to you, I’ll get Thancred involved.”

You gape. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would. By the Twelve, I could use the entertainment.”

“Fine! _Fine!_ ” You scowl at her, stalking out of the water and onto the pebbled beach. Dripping saltwater, you make your way onto the dock, avoiding his gaze.

 _He’s staring at you,_ you note in horror. Did he like what he was seeing? Or were you too immodest? Hellfire, why should you care about being immodest? Or what he thinks about your body? Heavens knew you dressed however you damned well pleased, so long as you could still murder Primals and Lightwardens, and there was little indeed you couldn’t make work.

 _If anything,_ you think to yourself as you sit down beside him, _I need to sort this out so I can stop torturing myself over what-ifs._ You felt more a schoolgirl than a Warrior of Darkness or Light as you met his eyes. They are molten crimson, warm and loving, and you melt under his gaze.

“Warrior,” the Exarch smiles. “Are you enjoying the beach? I was afraid Alisaie would drown you for good, Kojin’s blessing and all.”

“Very,” you smile, trying to not let anxiety get the better of you. If he’s alarmed or noticed your state of undress, he doesn’t let it on, his eyes focused solely on yours. “Are you not intending to?”

“Oh, I’ll get in eventually. Maybe once the crowd has thinned,” he grins. The Eulmorans didn’t hold the same reverence for the Exarch that the people of the Crystarium did, so his presence was largely ignored. Save for the crystal across his body, he might have looked like any other Mystel. You glance over at him again from under your lashes; perhaps the heat was getting the better of you, but you were having a hard time taking your eyes off the sweat lazily dripping down his chiseled collarbone to the strong planes of his chest.

“Do you want to disappear with me?” You blurt without thinking. He blinks, startled, then nods.

“Always, my friend.” Despite your strong words from the other day, there is no hesitation in his answer, and it warms your heart beyond words.

Automatically, you grab his hand and tug him off the opposite side of the dock and into the waters below with a splash. He follows you without hesitation, sputtering as he resurfaces beside you. As you do, you hear an undignified scream from the beach; from the sound of it, Alisaie has created her promised distraction and dragged Alphinaud into the water, splashing Y’shtola in the process.

“When I’m through with you,” Alphinaud roars, “you’ll _wish_ you had drowned in The Red Sea!”

“Lets go, lets go,” you grin, paddling further into the water, the Exarch following you with laughter.

“Is there some conspiracy in place to get me alone? You need have only asked, my friend!”

“What? Never. Come on!”

You lead him to a shallow grotto you had scouted out earlier on the other side of the beach, far enough way to grant you a modicum of privacy; if the tide were any higher, it would be flooded, but you are left with dozens of little pools of sealife, filled with tiny glimmering fish, barnacles, and seastars. Still holding onto your hand, the Exarch leads you to one of the larger pools.

“They’re tidepools,” the Exarch tells you, crouching. “little fleeting ecosystems, all their own, isolated and thriving. The Tempest, in a microcosm.”

You sit with him, shivering despite the heat, watching the sealife spin and swarm inside the small pools. After a while you finally say, “I want to apologize, ‘Raha.”

His eyes don’t leave the water, tracing the path of a spectacularly colored fish, but his tail twitches. “You have nothing to apologize for, my friend.”

“No; I do. It was unfair of me to be so critical when I haven’t the faintest inkling of what you’ve gone through this past century. You have risked yours and more to keep me and my companions safe. We owe you a debt we cannot hope to repay. My temporary irritation is… unimportant.”

“There is no debt, Warrior. You have paid your dues and more, and even so, I would gladly do it again. Fleeting though it may be, your feelings matter to me. I accept your apology, only if you accept mine, for lying to you about my whereabouts, and for concealing my feelings from you.” You glance up; his eyes are bearing into you with an intensity that brokers no falsehood. 

“I forgive you,” you say in a small voice, startled by his gaze. “You… look as I remember you.” You hope he can’t tell you’re blushing, even in the dim light of the grotto. “’Tis good to see.”

“You’re too kind,” he smiles, laugh lines crinkling at the edges. “And you…” he falters, looking away from you abruptly and nudging at the contents of a pool with a piece of driftwood.

The same thread is there again; hapless, you tug, thinking only of the reward, and not of the risk, as you’ve done all your life. “And what do I look like, ‘Raha?”

“Like you’ve been sent from my darkest daydreams to torture me,” he mutters under his breath. The admission startles you into shocked silence. “You shame the night itself with your beauty, warrior.” He shifts, folding his arms across his bare chest, looking embarrassed.

“Darkest daydreams?” You finally find your voice. “And what do _those_ consist of?” You expect him to respond as usual, embarrassed and shy at your flirtations, but he surprises you with his directness.

“Do you remember, during our last conversation, when I was having difficulty being honest with you?”

“Aye.”

“’Tis… matters of this. Careless words or actions… could jeopardize our friendship, which I value above all else. And I do not wish for my selfish desires to affect that whatsoever.”

“You should be selfish,” you breathe, leaning closer to him. Your shoulders brush; he startles, as if shocked by your touch. “You have spent a long time being selfless.”

“Ah, but all of that will be for naught if I make a mistake, warrior.”

“What do you daydream of?” You ask huskily.

And he meets your eyes now; his pupils have dilated, taking you in, all of you, and you want to fall into that black abyss with him and never return. Much as last time, there is a shift, but this time, you are the one who is a little fearful, full of desire as he leans close to you. “I dream of you, always. Less clothed than this, if I’m perfectly honest.” He grins, the smile of a much younger man, and your heart thuds against your breastbone.

“That’s not much, honestly.”

“No.” And with a grin more befitting G’raha Tia than the Exach, he snaps the strap of your top. You startle, squeaking indignantly. “Did Dulia-Chai give you this?”

“Alisaie suggested it. To catch your eye.”

He snorts. “You could wear a popotosack and catch my eye.”

Your grin widens. “Do you daydream of that often? Me in naught but a popotosack?”

He laughs. “Now there is an idea. However, I feel I have been honest and more with you, Warrior. Time for you to be honest with me.” He reaches out with his spoken hand and brushes wet tendrils of hair from your face, carefully, slowly, tucking them behind your ear, fingers hesitating over the shell of your ear. His hand lingers on your jaw, and you decide then and there to let your actions speak for you, and lean forward.

Before you can act, the spell is broken; you hear a bloodcurdling shriek and dart out of the grotto, only to realize it is merely Y’shtola being thrown bodily into the water by a laughing Thancred.

“Thancred Waters, there is _nothing_ keeping me from turning you into a pile of ash, as befits you! Your _audacity_ knows no bounds!”

“Let’s return,” The Exarch whispers. “We will speak of this tonight.” His hand lingers on your bared waist; polite in it’s chastity, but his touch burns like a brand on your lower back. You nod, and you paddle back to the docks together with a lighter heart.

There was one thing, besides their loss and sense of inexorable duty, that the Scions shared in common; while they worked til their last breath, and extended themselves past ability time and time again, there was a need to celebrate the small moments of life without abandon. When you returned to the beach, the Exarch keeping his protective hand at your waist, you were amused to find Y’shtola spitting and hissing at Thancred, Urianger, unable to keep from grinning, but standing between them, seemingly more for Thancred’s protection.

“I had to find out if it was true Miqo’tes hate water as much as their feline cousins,” Thancred smirks. You remember your promise to throttle Thancred and hope Y’shtola beats you to it. “In your case, it certainly seems so.”

“Do not apply asinine stereotypes so blithely!” She snarls, no longer the prim scholar and mage she once was and looking every inch a feral wildcat. “With your face uglier than a Goobue’s backside, I should endeavor to see how flammable you are.”

Urianger gives her a pleading look. “My lady, I will be glad and more to help you dry and launder your soiled clothes, but you delay your reprieve by standing in these waters, taunting a man who is as foolish as a sunaddled Moogle. It is as hopeless as dealing with the Fae, if not more so.”

Ryne is standing beside Thancred, holding a blitzball and looking flustered. “Thancred, please, apologize.” she says primly. “Alisaie wants to play Chocobo and we need you and Urianger for it.”

“Finally, a word of sense!” Y’shtola throws up her hands. “From the mouth of babes indeed.”

Thancred snorts. “With how condescending you act, you give the Exarch a run for his money as resident grandparent.”

Y’shtola’s white ear twitches; in that instant, Thancred falls bodily into the water with a shout, as if something had reached in from the depths and yanked him down. Ryne crosses her arms, sighing, and retreats to Alisaie and a gaggle of girls their age. Y’shtola treads water back to the shores, before pointing an accusatory finger at you and the Exarch.

“My friend, you’ll have to try harder to sneak away than merely using Alisaie to distract me,” she grins, and there is a very real fear she’ll Xenoglossy you into the next dimension. “Your faces lay the tale open plain as books.”

“You look for meaning where there is none,” you counter smoothly, interrupting the Exarch from giving himself away. “Please let me accompany you back to Eulmore, as repayment. I’ll show you to Dulia-Chai’s quarters.”

She nods, smiling. “You’re only too kind, Warrior.”

The sun beating down on your shoulders, Y’shtola’s ragged hem dripping water on the polished floors, you make your way into Eulmore and up to Dulia-Chai’s sumptuous rooms. As soon as Y’shtola enters the washroom, she unabashedly strips her robes down. “Would you be so kind as to hang these to dry?” She asks, handing you her soiled clothes and stepping into the tub carefully.

You nod, hanging them in the open window, smoothing them down carefully.

“How long?” Y’shtola calls after you.

You frown.“What?”

“How long have you been in love with the Exarch? I know the answer for him, but you, with all your silence and grandiose actions, are harder to decipher.”

You flush, taking a seat beyond the ornate privacy screen and stretching your legs. “It went from hatred, to resentment, and love, so I’m not completely sure where one ended and one began.”

Y’shtola hums. “’Tis often how these things happen. Many have thrown their lives at you, but I have rarely seen you reciprocate. You hold him very dear indeed. I would say I am glad, for he is a good man and more, but I cannot help but fear for your future.”

“Are you trying to warn me?”

“Not at all.” You hear water pour into the bath, accompanied by splashing. “The lives we live as the Scions are too short by half. One must find love where they can, and hold onto it against all odds. I may be a scholar, and more in love with tomes than any person, but even I can recognize that. Master Matoya would tell you as much.”

You think of Urianger when she speaks, and his sorrow over the loss of the fiercely beautiful Moenbryda. You had never spoken openly to him of it, but there was no doubt of what had laid between them, and how it affected him after. You’re interrupted by Y’shtola’s presence, a sheet wrapped around her securely.

“If you’re wondering,” she smiles, a glint in her eyes, “he has loved you since he saw you in Mor Dhona, and time has only fanned the flames. Even the blind,” she gestures to her blighted eyes, “can see that.”

She leaves the room to finish toweling off, leaving you to consider her words.

—

When you and your companions return from you venture in Kholusia, sunburnt and saltwater drenched, upon entering your quarters in the Pendants you immediately reward yourself to a scalding hot shower, scouring your hair with a sweet-smelling shampoo and feeling more than a little relieved to be clean of the day’s events. You prepare two mugs of hot herbal tea, drink one, and watch the second grow cold as the bells tick by, the Exarch’s presence sorely missed.

 _He’s a busy man, the de facto leader of a community,_ you tell yourself. _It’s only natural for him to be quite busy._ It’s still hard for you to abate your insecurities, thinking only of how you shouldn’t have been so forward with him, how you should have dressed differently, or hadn’t forced a confrontation. Those thoughts torture you into sleep, your head pressed against the desk, dim moonlight filtering in from the open window.

You wake, much later, comfortably warm and tucked into your bed.

You stir quickly to consciousness, alarmed you aren’t where you remembered, thinking of poisoned drinks and secret enemies; your hand reflexively clenches around the hand around yours, and you bring it to your face to examine it. Human, with ancient golden bands wrapped around it.

“Morning,” The Exarch whispers gently in the dark. He’s kneeling beside the bed, eyes reflecting the moonlight outside. “Pray forgive me, for entering your room without your permission, but I think you’ll understand my concern; with recent events, I feared you had fallen ill. When I saw you had fallen asleep at your desk, I moved you to somewhere more comfortable.” Even in the night, you can tell he’s blushing, his ears folding down to his head. You lace your fingers with his in response.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “Are you comfortable down there? Come sit with me.” You scoot yourself up to sitting up against the wall, patting the feather mattress. Moving slowly, as if to not startle you, the Exarch moves beside you, the mattress dipping with his comfortable weight. He’s dressed simply in a black tunic, his white-streaked hair about his shoulders, free from it’s usual plait. Without thinking, you reach up with your free hand and card your fingers through the soft locks. He shudders, leaning into your touch, running his thumb over your knuckles.

“I apologize, for being so late,” he murmurs to you. “There were matters with the amarokeepers

which needed to be addressed promptly. One amaro had fallen ill, and one of the keepers suspected another caretaker rendering it as such. After much discussion, we realized the amaro was simply brooding and preparing for eggs,a rare event indeed, and no one was at fault. I did not forget about our meeting, I assure you; truth be told, I thought of little else.”

“Ironic, that I’m the savior of two realms, and my schedule is more free than yours.”

“Despite your many obligations, I daresay the people fear being an imposition on you, for fear of drawing your ire.”

“That doesn’t stop me from agreeing to anything and everything,” you laugh. “It’s humbling in its ridiculousness.” You reach up to stroke his ear; he twitches as you do so, running your thumb along the soft fur. “Did you have fun today, ‘Raha? You seemed in good spirits.”

“Very,” he assures you. “It was… quite nice, to feel like a young man, for an afternoon, even if my bones rue my choices.” He rolls his shoulders, his joints cracking in the silence. Thancred had challenged him to a watery sparring match, and while the Exarch had handily won, it was clear it did not have its consequence. 

You frown. “Is there aught I can do?”

“Being back in the Crystarium is enough. And being near you.” His voice dips into a rough whisper as your hand drifts down from his ears to his jaw. The sensation is electric; the smooth chiseled crystal, then the soft planes of his face are a lovely contrast to one another, and you haplessly consider how it would feel to run your tongue over both.

“I never told you, how I think of you now,” you breathe.

“Aye, and you never told me the same.”

He hums, then begins working your hand with both of his, massaging slow, dizzying circles into your calloused palms. It feels inexplicably sinful in its intimacy and wonderful, and you sig and stretch in response. “When I finally summoned you from the Source, I ran faster than ever, in all my years, to see you. My heart was in my throat the entire time I spoke to you that day; you had only grown more beautiful since I’d last seen you, and all the tales and more failed to capture an iota of that.” You flush at his flattery, but he continues steadily. “When I donned the cowl of the Exarch, I set aside much of myself in exchange for power and the ability to carry out the task before me. Caring for Lyna, for my people, was the closest I had came to being open with anyone in a century. Your presence alone undid all of that. It was a torture most exquisite, to be so close to the thread that had tied my entire life, yet bound so by lies and secrecy, even if it was for the greater good.

“But there was a certain… romance, in loving you, knowing surely I would die for you one day. If you suspected aught, it wouldn’t matter when I was gone. But then my plans went awry, and here I am, still alive, with you. I hadn’t had to live with the idea of being able to… be close to you, like this. The repercussions and consequences of loving too much. It’s wonderful, if a bit terrifying.” He finishes his massage hand stilling in your arm; your hand feels decidedly boneless, and not entirely from his ministrations.

“I’m so glad,” you whisper, “that your plans didn’t follow through.” You remember the horror that had left you silent when he fell to the floor before you, the silent dread that had accompanied him proclaiming he had “used” you. You think of his dark promises to bring all you home, one way or another. Your voice cracks; a sob clogs your throat, and before you know it, you are crying, and he wraps his arms around you and brings you close to his chest. “I can’t lose you, I _can’t…_ ”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, panicked, rubbing your hair, “I’m sorry I’ve…”

“You’ve read my story; you know of the people I’ve lost. Each time it happens…” you squeeze your eyes shut, taking a shaky inhale of the reassuring scent on his robes, “…I feel less capable of handling it, my very soul… fracturing, under the weight of that grief.” One of his hands tangle in your hair as you continue, the other pressed reassuringly on your back. “I hated the Crystal Exarch, when I first met him— you. You infuriated me. I had watched, one by one, as my friends were plucked from their very bodies with no warning, almost losing my life to Zenos, save for Estinien’s intervention. I didn’t trust you, and I was afraid of how you… seemed to revere me, for my ability to slay the Lightwardens, and Hydaelyn’s mark on me.” You sit up and wipe your eyes to meet his, your heart leaping into your throat when you see his eyes full of tears, shimmering in the dim lamplight.

“But you were kind, gentle, understanding. You made me rest and eat when no one else thought of it, you enjoyed my company, and I enjoyed yours. I have been a tool to entities far greater than comprehension, and I know when my patron is only tolerating me for my abilities. This… was not that. When we sat on the beaches of Kholusia and you painted me a picture of your friend and the eternal wind, I found myself thinking, _I wish that were me._ I was jealous of this woman who had captured you affections so; and when I realized that it _had_ been me all along… well, I wish it had been under better circumstances.”

“Mayhap we’ve found those better circumstances, my friend,” he murmurs. His arms are a loose, warm cage around you, his spoken hand, warm and gentle, at your cheek, his crystalline arm rubbing soothing circles into your aching shoulders. To be so close to him, so intimate, you had expected your heart to be in your throat and anxiety running in your veins, but you are comfortable and happy, enjoying the electricity between you as your eyes lock.

It is so easy, to draw his head to yours and press a soft kiss to that pout that had taunted you so. You had wondered, what the first kiss would be like; would he be clumsy and unskilled, or a raging fire, consuming you and leaving nothing left? But you had failed to consider one key factor; G’raha Tia is a man of immeasurable patience. He sighs against your lips with the relief of a century of waiting, leaning closer to you, returning each of your kisses slowly, achingly. His tongue runs across your bottom lip, asking nothing, hoping for everything, and you are ready to give him your all. You move to straddle his lap, using your weight to tip him backwards into the feather bed, and you look down to witness the sight of the Exarch rendered helpless by you. His waist is bracketed by your bare thighs and he is ravaged and beautiful, cheeks high with flush, eyes glimmering. He runs his hands down you; encircling your rib cage, running over the narrowness of your waist with a shudder, before settling on your hips, fingers spread wide and digging into your flesh.

“Stay with me,” you whisper before you can stop with yourself. “Stay with me tonight, stay with me _every_ night,” you plead, falling forward to slant your mouth over his. He tangles a hand in your hair, clutching you to him with a fierceness.

“Anything,” he murmurs against you, “anything, I’ll give you anything…”

 _I want everything,_ you think desperately, nuzzling his sharp jaw, nipping, sucking a hapless lovemark in the stripe of flesh of his bared neck. A sound escapes his throat, choked and gravelly, and his crystal hand bears down your hips with unexpected strength onto his. He twists to kiss your cheeks; your stomach flips as you realize he is kissing the teartracks on your face, leaving kisses gentler than morphos across your closed lids.

You run your hands under his tunic, feeling the spliced skin and crystal beneath your fingers, noting with delight as you feel his heartbeat, rapid and strong, beneath your hands. He sits up and tugs it off for you, and you realize what you want more than anything is as much of his skin pressed against you as possible, so you wiggle out of your own top, squirming as close to him as possible. He runs tentative hands down your bared back, kissing you with a fervor that belies darker intent.

“Please,” you murmur, raking your nails down his chest. Your meaning is unmistakable; he cups your breast with his crystal hand, tentative, and you shudder at how wonderful it feels, digging your hips down onto his, feeling that unmistakable hardness under his clothes. The kisses grow ragged, desperate, teeth knocking and his touches growing more harsh.

He breaks off, panting hotly into your bare neck. “Forgive me,” he stammers.

“Is aught amiss?” You query, sitting up to look at him full in the face.

He makes a choked laugh. “ _Amiss?_ Warrior, I am about to expire on the spot, I’m so impossibly happy. No, nothing is amiss. But…” He cards his fingers through your hair, considering you. “When I was a younger man, I would take your offerings without a second thought, for as much as you would give me. Especially considering how torturous your lack of clothing was today.” he mutters, chuckling. “But, I have no wish to rush matters between us.”

“I can agree,” you smile, “but I cannot help but wonder if things down _there_ will cause you some discomfort, no?”

He huffs. “Tell me about one of your more barbarous fights; I’m sure that will settle matters quickly enough.” He sits up, moving you easily to his front and laying you down into the pillows. He carefully arranges your blankets about you, before snuggling you close under his chin and sighing, nose nuzzled in your hair. Have you ever felt so safe, so loved? Wrapping your arms around his bare chest, you come to the conclusion that no. At least, not since the Echo was awakened in you.

“A barbaric fight, hmm?” You hum. “Have I ever told you about a gentleman named Hildibrand Manderville?”

He blinks. “Manderville? As in… ah, I forget the place, but Rammbroes went there to bet on Chocobo Racing sometimes.”

“The Gold Saucer; aye, the same.” And you recount one of your adventures with Hildibrand, Nashu, and Gilgamesh, noting with particular pleasure how he laughs into your hair, and how the vibration of his joy fills your chest with warmth. Between one story and another, his breathing grows heavier, and you realize he has fallen asleep in your arms, and it is not long at all before you follow him into the most peaceful sleep you have known in years.

It is well-earned and hard-won, and the accompanying morning, his arms never leaving you, has never been more beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> you might be asking yourself: did this bitch really name a fic from taylor swift lyrics literally 4 hours after the album dropped?  
> yes. yes i am that bitch.  
> [my carrd.](https://thepapernautilus.carrd.co/)  
> 


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